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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29555682">On The Nature of Desire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgotten_rain/pseuds/forgotten_rain'>forgotten_rain</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Creampie, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Masturbation, Multi, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, POV Female Character, Polyamory, Reader-Insert, Self-Insert, Sex, Threesome - F/M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:00:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,528</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29555682</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgotten_rain/pseuds/forgotten_rain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Even a betrothed princess must first learn how to please the man she will marry. When you are asked to take intimacy lessons, you believe it might help prepare you for marriage, but body and heart so seldom agree.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Character(s)/Reader, Original Male Character/Reader, Reader - Relationship, You/Original Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>100</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You hasten down the beautiful garden walkway towards the library, skirt gathered in your fists so that you don’t trip over the hem. One of the giant library doors is partially open and you can make out the silhouette of your personal guard bowing to someone within the room, announcing your arrival. You pick up speed, cursing your servant for fitting you with high heels. Yes, you were mostly going to be sitting around all day, so you had agreed to the decision, but it was also her fault for suggesting it. Didn’t she know you had a reputation for tardiness and would need to run to get to places on time? Especially when it came to lessons with a certain someone . . .</p><p>Your guard exists the library as you approach and gives you an almost apologetic smile. You can feel your shoulders slump as you drop your skirt.</p><p>“He’s not in a good mood, is he?” you whisper, unconsciously straightening out your clothes.</p><p>“Not even a little bit,” he answers. “Good luck.” He shifts into his natural stance, standing guard at the door, one hand on the pommel of his sword. You can see from his face that he’s trying not to laugh.</p><p>You huff and straighten your back, holding your chin up before striding into the library.</p><p>Located at the far end of the royal gardens, past rows and rows of delicate flowers and curious foliage, stands the grand library. Your grandfather had built it for his wife back when they had been courting and she used to frequent it often before she grew too old to move. Now, you and a few other courtiers are the only ones that use it for its intended purposes. <em>It’s a shame, too</em>, you think. <em>It’s such a beautiful place</em>.</p><p>The outside of the library was made to look like a smaller, less fortified castle, with turrets rising from the sides and a domed center. The main doors opened into a wide circular hall already lined with shelves of books stacked all the way to the ceiling, interrupted only by the balcony that curved around the room. Across the room, providing most of the light in the main hall, stood towering windows that looked past the gardens to the mountains beyond. The painted glass threw bright colours splattering across the floor, careful not to linger too long on any particular book. In the middle of the hall, covered in tinted glass, stood a circular stone table topped with the oldest texts that the kingdom had to boast, opened to pages that a few decades ago had seemed important, and perhaps still were. You were only vaguely familiar with the ancient script, but you knew the stories inside those books regardless. Classic tales of warriors and gods and heroes and adventure.</p><p>Beyond the table were scattered a few cushioned chairs and a smaller wooden desk facing the large windows, and behind one of those chairs stands the heir to the Duke of Miren, regarding you with his stone-cold gaze.</p><p>“You’re twenty minutes late,” he says, his words echoing in the vast hall.</p><p>You walk up to him with a confidence that his glare quickly melts. Despite being friends since childhood, Gideon had always been stupidly serious and focused on his duties. Nobody, not even a lifelong friend, received any partiality when it came to things like being on time or acting proper. He was a nobleman through and through and he wanted everyone to know it.</p><p>“Well,” you say, halting in front of him, hands on your hips, “I apologize, but I had to see to some <em>duties of state</em>.”</p><p>He looks you up and down, deep emerald eyes raking your body and you feel hot just from his examination. You didn’t know how it happened, but sometime last year, you had started to become keenly aware of some of Gideon’s habits, his movements, how his dark hair tumbled down the sides of his face, framing his hard jawline and making his green eyes gleam, how he quirked his eyebrow when he was thinking, how he could hold your gaze unflinchingly and make your insides squirm without so much as saying a word, how his long slender fingers held open the pages of a book, making you wonder what else he could spread open with those hands. You’d tried to ignore this development, as you tried to ignore it now, but lately it had become so much harder to tame the blush that you could feel spreading across your face.</p><p>“Duties of state,” he echoes, snapping you out of your musings. “So, I assume it has nothing to do with the new clothes that you have on.”</p><p>You look down at yourself – at the long, pleated skirt that covered your feet and the button-up blouse cut just an inch above scandalous, showing off the swell of your breasts without ever showing cleavage. The servant had brought it out for you, and you had been delighted to try a new style that wasn’t all corsets and cavernous skirts. Perhaps you had spent a little too long admiring the fabric and the cut and the way it curved around your body flatteringly, and perhaps you had been thinking about how a certain someone might react to the outfit.</p><p>But of course, you should have known that that stoic face wouldn’t give anything away. If he was interested in your attire, he gave no indication.</p><p>“My clothes have everything to do with duties of state,” you say, sauntering over to one of the chairs, making sure to give him enough time to watch the way the fabric hugged your butt before you sat down. “As the princess, it is my duty to be ahead of the curve when it comes to fashion.”</p><p>Gideon rolls his eyes, taking the seat next to you. The table has already been stacked with books on political and cultural history, and a pitcher of water sits on a corner, untouched. For the next hour and a half, you try your best to pay attention to the history of the palace, and you succeed until the end of the second hour draws near and you feel your eyelids start to droop. You had been sitting in on meetings and courtroom politics all day and were starting to grow tired of listening to men talk and talk while you sat quietly.</p><p>“Am I boring you?”</p><p>Gideon’s voice rouses you out of your stupor and you realize that you had your eyes completely closed for a few minutes there. You blink, forcing the sleep out of you. “Sorry, no. I just had a long night and haven’t had a chance to rest all day.”</p><p>Gideon regards you closely for a moment, probably debating whether to admonish you for your lack of etiquette or to relax that stick up his ass and let you rest for a while. He quietly shuts the books he had laid out, evidently choosing the latter. Grabbing the pitcher, he pours out water for the two of you and hands you a glass. “Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>You drink some water and rub your temples, placing the glass on the table. “My mother,” you say by way of explanation. “I’m already twenty and since I should marry within the next two years, she wants me to take . . . um, <em>intimacy</em> lessons.”</p><p>A spluttering noise draws your attention to Gideon who seemingly choked on his water. You grab his glass and set it down before patting him on the back as he calms down. He wheezes and you realize he’s laughing, clutching his stomach. Your pats turn to slaps.</p><p>“Ow!” he exclaims, leaning away from you. He’s still laughing, although not as hard. “Sorry, your mother wants you to take sex lessons?”</p><p>You know your cheeks are burning but you glare at him anyway. “Apparently it’s tradition.”</p><p>“What, to make sure you know how to please your husband? Do you need to be trained in that area?”</p><p>You feel your face burst into flames. Gideon redoubles his laughter, and it takes everything in you to not punch him.</p><p>“Oh, like you’re so good at pleasing a woman?” you retort.</p><p>Gideon wipes a tear from his face. “I’m sure I’ll manage just fine.”</p><p>“Because you’ve read <em>books</em>?”</p><p>“Because I know what I’m doing.”</p><p>You look at him with a challenge in your eyes, hardly believing the words that come out of your mouth next. “And what is that?”</p><p>His laughter dies down. “What?”</p><p>You cross your arms across your chest, making sure to push your breasts up slightly as you lean on the armrest. “What is it that you do to please a woman?”</p><p>He looks scandalized by your question, but you take great satisfaction at the redness that you see creeping up his neck. You also notice his gaze slip, taking in the roundness of your breasts before flickering back up. You’re not tired at all anymore.</p><p>“I’m not going to tell you,” he says.</p><p>You pout mockingly. “Why, afraid that you don’t actually hold up?”</p><p>Slowly, he gets his bearings, and you can see his stoic demeanour return. “Because it’s weird. I’m not going to tell my friend what I do in the bedroom.”</p><p>You smirk and you know that infuriates him. “Why not? I’m a woman. Who else better to judge if you really do know what you’re doing?” There’s a challenge in your voice and you know that no matter how proper and stone-faced he might appear to be, Gideon’s ego can’t help but rise to it.</p><p>And you are right. You see the mask slip as he braces himself to respond, but something in his eyes makes your stomach lurch.</p><p>He leans forward, stretching his torso across the armrest so that his lips are at your ears and you feel yourself tremble, the heat from his body brushing against your skin. “Princess, if you want me to fuck you, you should just ask.” His voice is low and breathy, and you feel like you might melt into a puddle at his words.</p><p>You turn your head towards him, feigning affront, but you are caught off-guard by how close his face is to yours. You are frozen in place, unable to break away from his gaze. Something in his expression changes and you watch him regard your lips. The two of you are so close and you know that it would take the smallest movement to lean forward and kiss . . .</p><p>The tolling of the hour bell makes you jump, but Gideon only pulls away casually, as if a moment ago the two of you weren’t so close your lips could have touched. An infuriating smirk climbs across his face and you scowl at him as he picks up his books and nods at you. “Until next week, your highness.”</p><p>Your guard finds you ten minutes later, still sitting in the chair, with your head in your hands, unable to tame the blush that you know is wreaking havoc on your face. To make matters worse, you know that your drawers are probably soaked through.</p><p>“Princess?”</p><p>You look up and it takes a moment for the guard’s face to come into focus. “Oh, sorry, yes?”</p><p>He looks at you with mild concern. “Lord Gideon’s lessons were that draining, huh?”</p><p>You force yourself to focus on his words and give him an unconvincing laugh. “You know how he is.” You get up, casually running your hand across the back of your skirt, relieved at its dryness. It seemed that the thick material of the skirt was keeping your dampness contained.</p><p>“Your highness?”</p><p>It takes you another moment to realize your guard is talking to you again. “I’m sorry, Illeas, I’m somewhat distracted. You’ll have to repeat yourself.”</p><p>Illeas gives you an understanding smile. “You’re supposed to have lunch with your mother next, but I’m wondering if it wouldn’t be a good idea to come up with some excuse so that you can rest in your room for a while before your next meeting.”</p><p>You flop forward, wrapping your arms around the man. He stiffens for a moment before hesitantly returning the embrace. “My hero,” you say.</p><p>He looks embarrassed when you pull out of the embrace. “It’s no matter, your majesty.”</p><p>You sigh. “Come on, Illeas. I thought we were past formalities.”</p><p>He looks reluctant, but you put your hands on your hips and look at him sternly.</p><p>“Fine,” he says, obliging and calling you by your name.</p><p>“Good. Now, walk me back to my room. I am <em>exhausted</em>.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You heart is still pounding when you return to your room and fall into your bed. You feel a slight hunger, but you ignore it. You can always grab something to eat from the kitchens, but this thirst inside you needs to be dealt with first.</p><p>Your mind reinvents the moment before the hour bell pulled you and Gideon apart, your imagination forcing your heads together in a hungry kiss. You imagine bringing him back to your chambers and undoing your blouse as you slowly pop the buttons open. You tease your nipple with one hand and run splayed fingers down your stomach, undoing the knot of your skirt and sliding your palm over your underwear. You moan as you tease your breast, imagining Gideon’s slender fingers tugging and tapping against your already hard nipple. You imagine his fingers pressing firmly as they slid under your pants and you shudder as he finds the wetness that has soiled them.</p><p>“Look at you,” you imagine his voice saying, condescendingly. “So wet for me already. Who knew that the princess of Celinia was such a whore?”</p><p>You gasp at the words as they send more wetness pouring out of your pussy.</p><p>“Oh, you like being called a whore, do you?” he says, his fingers pressing more firmly as he moves them in a gentle motion, making you moan even more. He leans forward, fingers pressing into your clit, and says, “What will the people of Celinia do when they find out their princess is such a little slut, giving her wet cunt to just anybody?” He strokes your clit, and you have to try hard not to cry out. “We can’t have that, can we? Yes, we need to discipline you before word gets out.” He pulls off your soaking underwear and tosses it on the floor, pushing your knees apart. He kneels on the ground, face directly in front of your vulva. “If you insist on being such a dirty little whore, then I guess I’ll just have to make sure you’re satisfied, so that you don’t go around spreading your legs for just any man that comes your way.”</p><p>His tongue reaches out and runs a wet strip across your clit, and you cry out. You can almost hear him smirk. “Such a sensitive little girl. You know, if you keep crying out so loudly, I’ll have to stop, or your guard will get concerned.”</p><p>Illeas’s face flashes in your mind and you dismiss it. “I’ll be quiet,” you breathe.</p><p>“Promise?”</p><p>You nod. Without a warning, Gideon lowers his mouth to your clit and starts stroking it with his tongue. You gasp but bite down on your lip to keep from moaning too loudly. You can’t help the soft whimpers that manage to escape, but as much as you want to scream from his tongue, you hold yourself back. You stroke your clit, feeling the heat and wetness of Gideon’s tongue on you as you bring yourself closer and closer to orgasm. You insert two fingers into your dripping wet pussy and thrust, rubbing faster and faster as you feel your pleasure peak. You can feel yourself getting closer. Your body is already shaking. With a poorly stifled moan, you come. You bite down on your lip so hard that you draw blood, but you don’t even notice as your body convulses with your orgasm. You keep stroking your clit as you come, softening the intensity little by little. Shuddering, you let your hands fall to your side, breathing heavily. Your heart is pounding, and you wonder if you’ve ever had an orgasm this fast before.</p><p>Thinking about Gideon’s head between your legs sends another spike of pleasure down to your pussy. This is the first time you’ve ever pictured someone you know while masturbating. Sometimes, you would picture hands or a tongue or a penis, but never ones that were attached to someone you knew. This was the first time you’d pictured Gideon and if your imagination is any indication of how quickly he could make you come, then you’re sure that if he decided to fuck you for real, it would be even quicker.</p><p>The thought makes your cheeks flush, and you press your thighs together again. No, no, you didn’t have time for round two. You don’t know how much time had passed, but you need to clean yourself up and get some food in you before you continue with your duties.</p><p>Sighing, you lift yourself off your bed and slip into the bathroom. You had asked Illeas to request some warm water for you to soak in and it seemed he had delivered. Steam rises from the tub and you dip our fingers in the water, testing its heat. The water is still fairly warm, and you let yourself sink into it with another sigh, reaching for your soap and scrubbing yourself off. Every time you rub your hands across sensitive parts of your skin, a thrill of arousal runs through you and you have to force yourself to continue, trying to think of the day ahead and not about how Gideon’s hands would feel on your wet skin.</p>
<hr/><p>“We’ll have to send someone to the villages on the border and ensure that they have sufficient supplies for the coming winter.”</p><p>You poke at your food half-heartedly, not quite paying attention to your mother’s words. Miffed at having missed lunch with her daughter, the queen had insisted that you dinner with her and the king in their private quarters. Oftentimes, your duties and those of the royal couple did not align, leaving very little time for you to take meals together. Normally, your mother didn’t mind seeing less of you, but for some reason, she was insistent on your presence tonight.</p><p>You raise your head as the queen commands your attention. “Are you even listening to me?” she snaps.</p><p>“Yes, mother,” you say, keeping your tone as flat and neutral as possible. “We need to find emissaries to send out to the villages, I’ll send a notice out to –“</p><p>“No, you will go.”</p><p>This brings you up short. “<em>Me?</em>”</p><p>You eye her suspiciously. Your mother would never voluntarily allow you to oversee important duties by yourself. She was of the opinion that a princess must remain within castle walls at all times, interacting with only the most elite and following every order blindly. You glance over at your father who is intently studying his soup with a small smile on his face.</p><p>“Yes, it was your father’s idea,” says the queen, with a tone that belies exactly what she thinks of it. “As the next ruler of Celinia, you must already begin public appearances and it is best that you start now, before marriage. That way, the people will already be familiar with the way you work and will offer their support after your father abdicates. It will be a while yet before you are queen, but it’s never too early to start. I suppose.”</p><p>You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. You had been waiting to be given more administrative duties such as this that allowed you more control over daily affairs and the lives of the people. Even sitting in on the grievance sessions, where the local populace could come to voice their concerns to the king, had been your father’s idea. As the reigning monarch, he had his own ideas of what the heir to the throne must know, and they varied vastly from the queen's. However, there was only so much your mother could influence about your duties without denying you the throne completely, and that made you very happy.</p><p>Despite your attempt to hide it, you mother apparently saw the excitement on your face, causing her to scowl. “Make sure you keep your composure while on the journey. We don’t need the people thinking their next queen is going to be a fool. Illeas will go with you, as well as a few other guards. Your father has prepared a handful of courtiers to accompany you, so just listen to them and do what they say.”</p><p>You had no intention of doing such a thing, but you keep that opinion to yourself. No need to stab yourself in the foot before you’ve even left the palace. “I’ll do my best, mother.”</p><p>She doesn’t seem convinced. You watch your mother shoot your father a look, making him rise from the table hastily and say, “Well, ladies, I must make my exit for the night. Enjoy the rest of your dinner.” He gives you a smile that you don’t find encouraging and when he passes Illeas standing by the door, he pauses, gives him a pat on the shoulder, and rushes out of the room.</p><p>You raise an eyebrow at Illeas, but it seems like he is just as confused as you and shakes his head. Neither of you know what that was about.</p><p>“Now, moving on to your intimacy lessons.”</p><p>You freeze. No wonder your father had seemed in a hurry to leave. You yourself don’t want to be present for this conversation. You turn away from Illeas, not wanting to see the surprise on his face. That your mother would speak so casually about this when he was in the room was infuriating. As good a friend as Illeas was, you didn’t want him to hear about these less than savoury details of your life. “Mother, we do not need to talk about this right now.”</p><p>Your mother looks at your sternly. “Of course, we do. You are not getting any younger, and besides, I have found you a tutor already.”</p><p>“<em>A tutor</em>?” The excitement you had felt a moment before at the thought of leaving the palace evaporates immediately and you think to yourself that you should have known that there would be a compromise somewhere. Your mother would never allow the opportunity for you to do as you pleased. “I don’t want some <em>random man</em> putting his hands all over me!”</p><p>“It will not be a random man,” your mother says, her tone biting, daring you to argue. “Of course, we’re not going to put you at risk by hiring just any man to teach you how to behave. We’ve chosen someone you know very well and should be absolutely comfortable with.” She turns her head. “Illeas.”</p><p>Apparently, the news comes as a shock to Illeas, too, as he exclaims, “Your majesty, I don’t –”</p><p>“You have training, do you not?” your mother asks impatiently.</p><p>“Well, yes, but –,” but your mother does not let him finish. She turns back to you and says, “There you go. Who better to entrust you to than your personal guard, who you already place great trust in?”</p><p>“Mother, we’re friends, you can’t expect us to –“</p><p>“You are <em>not</em> friends,” your mother interrupts again. “He is your guard. He is your servant. He is here only to obey and fulfill your wishes. Do not mistake his constant presence for companionship.”</p><p>With that, she rises and turns fully to face Illeas. “Will you be able to tutor her yourself or must I give you a curriculum?”</p><p>Startled, but somehow managing to gather his wits quickly, Illeas says, "I can do it myself, your majesty.”</p><p>“Good. I expect a report on her progress by the end of the month. You are dismissed.” She turns her back to you and you realize the command was for the both of you. You get up quietly from your seat and leave the room immediately, not glancing back for a moment.</p><p>You enter your chambers and Illeas follows you in. Then you slam the door shut and hiss, “She’s a demon.”</p><p>Illeas slumps against the door, all poise leaving him in an instant. “I’m sorry,” he says to you. “I didn’t know she was going to ask this of me.”</p><p>You study his face for a moment, his curly blonde hair slightly ruffled and pale face flushed pink. His ears are practically red. In the few years that you had known him, you’d never found Illeas to be untruthful, always being honest with you even about difficult matters. You trust when he says he had no idea, especially when the matter involved the queen. She was not known for asking nicely.</p><p>“Sit down,” you say, dropping yourself into a chair. You let your body slump, pressing your palms into your eyes.</p><p>Illeas, having taken a seat next to you, asks kindly, “Are you alright, your highness?”</p><p>“Illeas,” you say, not opening your eyes. “What have I told you about my title?”</p><p>Illeas’s silence makes you peer out from between your fingers. He’s looking at the floor and not at you.</p><p>“Illeas?”</p><p>“She is right, you know. I am your servant.”</p><p>You lean your head back on the chair, letting your hands fall. “You are my friend, Illeas. Do not try to take her side in the matter. It does not bode well for you.”</p><p>You tilt your head forward slightly to catch the small smile that pulls up the corners of your guard’s lips. “Of course.” And then, thankfully, he says your name.</p><p>“Now,” you say. “What do we do about this sex situation?”</p><p>Illeas coughs loudly before slapping himself in the chest to calm his breathing and you watch, amused. “Why do all men react the same way when I mention sex?”</p><p>At least this one wasn’t laughing. Illeas was pink again up until his ears, although you weren’t sure if it was from the choking or the subject.</p><p>“I . . . I don’t know,” Illeas says. “I-What do you want to do?” He looks at you intently and you wonder.</p><p>The whole idea of intimacy lessons was so that you would know how to please your partner. While you didn’t think you were wholly unimaginative in that regard, you wondered if some practical experience would not do you good. You had tossed and turned for most of the night before, this very question running through your head, although at the time, the idea of some stranger shoving his cock inside you had made your stomach turn. Now that you knew it would be Illeas, however, that changed things.</p><p>You were not attracted to Illeas. It wasn’t that he was not handsome. In fact, you had noticed how many women seemed to eye him hungrily, and you yourself weren’t immune to the charm of that easy smile and those wide eyes, caught between a deep-sea blue and ocean green. He listened well to your grievances and, having spent almost every day for the past few years with him by your side, you had even developed your own jokes. You laughed and spoke and poked fun the way good friends did. So, would you be willing to trust him with your body?</p><p>You thought about Gideon and how his words ignited the depths of your desire. You couldn’t imagine Illeas’s words doing the same, but you could imagine how comforting his presence would be as he thrust inside you, filling you with his hard dick. You could imagine him bending over you as he moved, strong arms corded with muscle, holding your wrists in place while he fucked you. You could imagine the sweat dripping off his nose, and those blond locks turning dark as they stuck to his forehead.</p><p>“Hm,” you say. “I don’t know, either.”</p><p>Illeas shrugs. “You don’t need to decide right away. If it really makes you uncomfortable, I could always talk to the captain and ask him to put in a word with the king.”</p><p>But your mind is already elsewhere, and you ask, “You’ve had training?”</p><p>“Ah,” says Illeas, embarrassedly rubbing the back of his neck. “Yes, I did train for pleasure work for a while, when I thought maybe I wanted to get into the pleasure sector. I was somewhat directionless when I was younger, but after my father told me he was growing too old to be your personal guard anymore, I decided it would be better for me to follow in his footsteps and train to be a fighter, instead. By then, I had already spent some time studying pleasure work, and I remember a lot of my training yet.”</p><p>Illeas is only four years older than you, having taken his father’s place, as he said, a few years ago, when he had come of age. His father had been your personal guard since you were born, and had been the personal guard to your father before that.</p><p>You smile coyly at him. “What other secrets are you keeping from me?”</p><p>He smiles back. “I suppose you will never know.”</p><p>There is an easy friendship between the two of you, no awkward pauses or misinterpreted signals. You had always been at ease with each other and you did not want that to change. You tell him as much.</p><p>“Well,” he says, “part of pleasure work is in separating personal emotions from the professional. If you do decide to go ahead with this – and I’m not saying that you should or should not – we would have to ensure that we both know that this is only training. There must be no romantic involvement between the two of us and, outside the bedroom, we must agree to respect each other as friends and as princess and guard. If you so wish, we can abstain from talking about the lessons at all outside of the bedroom.”</p><p>Illeas’s levelheadedness on the matter is impressive and he gives you a sheepish grin. “It’s easier said than done, of course. I can sit here and say these things, but we will never know how it works unless we try it.”</p><p>“What about you, Illeas?” you ask. “Would you be alright with, um, training me?”</p><p>Illeas crosses his hands across his chest and considers it for a moment. You can see the pink in his cheeks flush a little darker, but apart from that, his composure does not falter. “I do think this is sudden and not a little, well, out of the ordinary, but,” and here he turns to you, “if I had to ensure your safety during these lessons with anyone, then it would be myself.”</p><p>You exhale with amusement. “That’s not what I asked.”</p><p>He pauses for a moment and you wonder if he’s still thinking or if he’s gathering his nerve. “Yes,” he says, finally. “I would enjoy having sex with you.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You don’t give Illeas an answer the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that. For a whole week, you avoid bringing up the subject, and Illeas does not ask. However, you find yourself paying more attention to him. You pay attention to the way he talks to you with the ease of someone very comfortable with your presence and the honesty to speak his mind, even on subjects he might find displeasing. You pay attention to his actions, the subtle ways in which he makes room for you. Not only because you’re the princess, but because he wants you to feel comfortable in a given situation. You notice the things he does for you that no one else does – not even the servants employed to tend to your wishes. He helps you return books to their correct place in the library, warns you when your mother is in a bad mood (which is a lot of the time), and gladly steals the mushrooms off your plate when you dine in your chambers. His presence is a comfort, and you know that you would not survive without him. By the time the end of the week rolls around, you are fairly certain you have your answer.</p><p>As the trip to the outskirts is scheduled for the weekend, your lesson with Gideon is pushed back a few days, which relieves you immensely. One man at a time. You would first speak to Illeas, <em>then</em> you could deal with Gideon.</p><p>The trip to the outskirts takes about an hour, which you spend in your carriage with two other courtiers that your father had chosen. They inform you that the carriage would take you to one of the larger villages on the outskirts that people from nearby villages could travel to in order to hold audience with you. You were to finish the proceedings by sundown and then return to the palace. You discuss potential issues that might be brought up by the people and the courtiers are more than willing to engage with you. Silently, you thank your father for choosing enthusiastic men to assist you instead of the more uptight ones that you are sure your mother would have preferred. They don’t immediately dismiss your suggestions, but rather give you well thought out and structured arguments for why some of your propositions might or might not work. In turn, you are able to convince them to change certain aspects of their approach to ensure that the people are given the most beneficial terms possible.</p><p>At the village, the chieftain welcomes you gladly into his home, where he has a designated room to hold council. You, Illeas, the two courtiers, and the chieftain begin the session as soon as possible upon your arrival, the rest of the guards ensuring order and safety for everyone present. You only take breaks to eat and occasionally step outside for some fresh air, but you’re determined to see to the concerns of each and every person that has travelled all this way to see you. Before you know it, the sun is setting, and you’re growing weary, but the line of people doesn’t seem to be shortening. People had stopped arriving some time ago, but there were still enough that you feel disheartened at the thought of dismissing them without hearing them out.</p><p>After much back and forth during the next break, you convince the courtiers to stay the night at the village, along with you, Illeas, and the rest of the guards. The courtiers are understandably against your decision, but the village chieftain is thrilled and allows you all to spend the night at his own inn, where everyone would have ample space to sleep and delicious food to eat. You also implore the man to let the people who had travelled to this village find lodging in nearby establishments, and that you would cover the price of their stay. You’re aware that this might infuriate your mother, but you are also keenly aware that the money in your treasury would not be terribly affected by your stint.</p><p>You dismiss the rest of the villagers for the night with the promise of continuing your session the next morning and follow the chieftain to the inn. The innkeeper has already laid out a splendid meal for you and you leave the dinner feeling a little less tired and a lot more satisfied.</p><p>However, as you begin to get ready for the night, the weariness creeps up on you again and you find your eyelids drooping even as you climb into the bed. A knock on your door makes you pause.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>Illeas opens the door and steps inside but stops abruptly.</p><p>You frown, not sure why he wasn’t moving. “Well, come in,” you say. “And shut the door, you’re letting a draft in.”</p><p>Illeas shuts the door behind him, but only takes a couple of steps forward. He doesn’t look at you when he says, “I came here to tell you that you should switch rooms.”</p><p>Slowly, you feel more alert. “Why, is something wrong?”</p><p>“No.” He shakes his head, still not looking at you. “But this is not an ideal place for the princess to be sleeping. It’s on the ground floor and there’s a balcony close to the bed. I think it would be better for you to be sleeping in a smaller room, without a balcony, so it’s harder for any assassins to find you.”</p><p>Now you’re entirely awake, and suddenly very cold. “Do you think somebody is out there trying to kill me?”</p><p>At the concern in your voice, Illeas turns to you, only to swing away again. “No, I do not. We haven’t heard even a whisper about assassins, but I still think for the sake of safety, that you should sleep somewhere less obvious.”</p><p>You nod, not entirely convinced, but willing to go along with it for the time being. You climb out of the bed and make to follow Illeas, but he holds up a hand before you get closer to him. “You might want to put something on over your nightclothes before you step out.”</p><p>You look down at the nightdress that the innkeeper had provided you with and realize to your horror that your hard nipples are pressed quite darkly against the white of the fabric. “Yes,” you squeak, spinning around immediately. “I might.”</p><p>Appropriately covered in a thick robe, you follow Illeas out of the room provided for you and up two flights of stairs as silently as possible. Illeas informs you that the courtiers have also been relocated, just to ensure everyone’s safety. He leaves the guards who had been posted outside your door to stay there, in case someone does try to break in through the balcony.</p><p>“This room is nowhere near as big as yours,” Illeas says, upon arriving at the room where you’d be sleeping. “But I’m afraid it’ll have to do for tonight.”</p><p>Compared to the lavish length of the room the chieftain had picked out for you, this one looks more like a broom closet had been stretched out as far as it could go without the walls caving in. A bed had somehow been forced into it, and there was perhaps five feet of distance between the bed and the door. Against one wall, there sitsa dresser, and a table rests against the other.</p><p>“It’ll be fine,” you say. “It’s only for one night, after all. Was this room empty?”</p><p>“No, it’s mine.”</p><p>You spin around to face Illeas. “You were going to sleep here?” You look around the room. “It’s awful.”</p><p>Illeas grins at you. “We’re not all royalty.”</p><p>“Still,” you say, sitting on the bed. “This is ridiculous. It’s so cramped and small. They could do away with half of the room they provided me and still it would be three times as large as this one.”</p><p>Illeas sits down next to you and shrugs. “Not everybody can afford to spend that amount of silver.”</p><p>You stare up at the flaking ceiling. “I should ask my father to revise the provision plans . . ..” You drift away into thought for a moment before asking, “Where will you sleep now? Do you have another room?”</p><p>“Oh, I’ll probably just sleep outside the door.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“It’s the easiest way for me to be close enough to protect you if need be and catch a few hours of sleep.”</p><p>“You can’t just fall asleep standing up! At least find a bed.”</p><p>Illeas snorts. “All the rooms are taken. Besides, I wouldn’t want to leave you here alone.”</p><p>“Sleep here, then.”</p><p>“And what, <em>you’ll</em> fall asleep standing up?”</p><p>“No, we can both sleep . . . here.” Your voice falters. Illeas’s proximity to you, sitting beside you on the bed, is stark. The cramped room feels somehow much smaller and you grow uncomfortably hot in your thick robe.</p><p>After a moment, Illeas says kindly, “You don’t have to. Share the bed, I mean. I’m used to sleeping on my feet, it’s not that difficult.”</p><p>You can’t tell if you are relieved or not by his answer, but before you can decide, your mouth opens, and you spill more words that make your stomach tie itself into knots. “I mean it. We can both sleep here for the night. You would still be close to me, right? You’d be . . . you’d be right next to me and you can protect me if you need to. But you’d also have a bed to sleep on.” You make yourself meet his gaze, and with forced levity, say, “Besides, you’re my intimacy trainer. I’ll have to get used to sleeping with you.”</p><p>Illeas parts his lips as if to protest, then stops, and says instead. “Are you sure?”</p><p>“I would like to give it a try, I think. If you wouldn’t mind.”</p><p>“Alright,” says Illeas. “But you must promise to tell me the second you feel even the slightest bit uncomfortable. I’ll stop immediately. Promise?”</p><p>You nod. “Promise.”</p><p>His shoulders relax and he looks at you for so long that you unconsciously press your thighs together. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep beside you for very long.” You wait for him to finish his sentence, feeling the arousal running down your body. “You snore terribly.”</p><p>The tension of the moment dissipates, and you cry, “I don’t snore!”</p><p>“Oh, you snore horribly loudly. I stand guard outside your door ever night and every night I need to remind myself that a wild animal has not, in fact, been let loose in your quarters and that it’s just the dulcet sounds of the sleeping princess.”</p><p>You lean in close to him, eyes narrowed. “Just for that, I’m going to snore directly into your ear all night.”</p><p>Illeas rises. “Perhaps I should ask another one of the guards to switch with me.”</p><p>You cross your arms across your chest. “You’re not going anywhere. If you so much as step outside the door, I will have you dismissed as my personal guard.”</p><p>Illeas puts hand over his heart in mock outrage. “How dare you! I’ve been loyal to the throne my whole life. My father and his father before him and his father before him served dutifully. Does my loyalty mean nothing to you?”</p><p>You suppress a smile as you say, “Then spend the night with your princess, fool.”</p><p>Illeas sighs dramatically. “Fine. If my body must be the price, then so be it.”</p><p>"It's a good body," you say approvingly. "Very well sculpted."</p><p>He raises an eyebrow at you. "<em>My</em>, princess. I didn't realize you had been <em>ogling</em> me all this time."</p><p>You scoff, but you're blushing. "I have never ogled you. A princess does not ogle. I have simply taken note of the physical appeal of my guard. And why shouldn't I? He has to be in peak condition to protect me."</p><p>"Oh?" He leans forward, forcing you to lean back as his hands press into the bed, arms caging you in. His face is inches from yours and there's a hunger in his eyes that makes your throat go dry. "What else about me have you been assessing, princess?"</p><p>You freeze, your mind suddenly empty. You must look startled because Illeas immediately pushes himself off you and stammers, “Sorry! Sorry, I got carried away. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”</p><p>You sit up straight, your entire body on fire. You want to rip off the robe, but instead, say, “No, it’s fine. I was surprised, that’s all.” The image of his gaze lingers in your mind, and the tone of his voice does things to your body that you’re not quite ready to interpret.</p><p>Illeas rubs the back of his head, ears a vibrant red. “Sorry,” he says again.</p><p>You brush it off. “Let’s just get ready to sleep.”</p><p>Illeas doesn’t look as you take off your robe and climb into the bed. He unbuckles his belt and boots, blows out the lantern, checks to ensure the door is locked, and then climbs in after you. His sword he props against the head of the bed, within arm’s reach in case he might need it. The both of you lay stiff and still, feeling the heat of the other’s body radiating under the shared blanket, but neither of you touching the other. There’s perhaps an inch of space between the two of you on that small bed. You close your eyes and will yourself to sleep, but all you can think of is the look in his eyes and the deep voice and the wetness between your thighs. You turn your body away from his and you feel Illeas relax a little. You try to calm your mind, but it keeps racing as the night goes on. You shiver slightly from the cold, the blanket doing little to keep you warm. Although thinking about Illeas sends heat pouring out of your vagina, the rest of you is unaffected.</p><p>“Are you cold?”</p><p>You start. We weren’t aware that Illeas was still awake. “A little.”</p><p>You hear him turn; his body suddenly closer to yours. “Do you . . . would you like me to hold you?”</p><p>You feel your breath shudder and force yourself to breathe deep before answering. “Yes.”</p><p>Illeas wraps his warm arms around you, drawing you into his chest. You feel yourself melt into him, the warmth from his body enveloping you and you sigh happily.</p><p>You feel Illeas’s chuckle rumble against your back. “I’m glad this helps,” he whispers. His lips move against your hair and you have to fight back a gasp at the feel of it. You want him to kiss you. You want to know how soft his lips would feel on your skin.</p><p>You wiggle yourself deeper into his embrace, pushing your ass against his crotch. His breath shudders and you bite your lip at the sound. “Princess . . .,” his voice is a cross between a breath and a moan, and you feel yourself growing wetter.</p><p>Moved by some force bolder than you, you put your hand over one of his and guide it down your body, down the curve of your stomach, down the side of your thigh, and then up again against your skin, under the skirt of your nightdress.</p><p>Illeas’s breathing grows deeper the closer you guide his hand to your vulva and when you leave his hand on your inner thigh, he asks in the voice he used before that started this fire in you, “Are you sure?”</p><p>You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.</p><p>Gently, he pulls your legs apart, placing your ankle on his calf so you can prop your leg on something. Then his fingers trail almost lazily down your inner thigh and you feel your pleasure mounting rapidly, before he’s even reached your vulva.</p><p>His knuckles brush your labia, and you gasp. He barely touches you, fingers drifting over your skin and you’re already moaning, feeling yourself getting wetter by the second.</p><p>“Shh, princess,” he says, using his free hand to cup your mouth shut. “You can’t be too loud now. People will wonder what’s happening.” His finger dips between your folds and runs across the inside of your labia and you moan into his hand. Your hands grasp his arm like you’re holding on for dear life.</p><p>His touch is soft and teasing and you can feel a desperation that you have never felt before. A desperation for him to touch you more, to feel you more, and to feel him. His finger slides to your entrance, pressing gently against the wetness he finds there, and he moans into your hair. “Fuck, princess, you’re so wet already.” He pulls his finger back, rubbing your own juices along your vulva, making your body twitch.</p><p>“All I want to do is plunge my finger into your tight pussy,” he breathes, and you feel your insides clench at his words. “But first, I need to know what makes you feel good.” He rubs his finger in circles around different spots on your vulva, always tantalizingly close to your clit, but never quite on it. You groan in frustration as he asks, “Does this feel good, princess? Here? Is this the spot?” You know he’s teasing you and the knowledge only arouses you more, but you want to feel his finger on your clit, and you reach one hand down to show him, but he grabs your wrist.</p><p>“Oh, no, princess,” he says, bringing your hand back up to his arm. “I’m the one teaching you, remember? You’ll need to learn to be patient, it would seem.” He sighs, as if disappointed. “I was going to tease you some more and then give you the satisfaction of fingering your clit to make you come, but I guess I’ll have to draw this out a little longer.”</p><p>You groan again, and he says, “If I hear another complaint out of you, I’ll stop altogether. Do you want that, princess?”</p><p>You shake your head, unable to believe that Illeas was capable of doing this to you; of making you so desperate for his touch that you feel as if you could have begged him to keep going. But you stay silent like he asks, and he kisses the back of your head softly. “Good girl.”</p><p>Then, without warning, he pushes his finger into your pussy.</p><p>You gasp at the abruptness of it, then moan as he pumps his finger in and out of you. Your body is already moving against him and you feel yourself grow closer to orgasm. He inserts a second finger, and you moan even louder. His fingers feel so good inside you and you’re dying to come but you know you can’t, yet.</p><p>“Quiet, princess. We don’t want anyone to come in here and see me fingering you, do we?”</p><p>You shake your head, not even paying attention to his words. His fingers thrust in and out of you faster now and you can’t help soft moans escape your lips.</p><p>“Such sweet moans,” Illeas whispers. “Are you close, princess? Do want to come?”</p><p>You nod vigorously and Illeas chuckles. “Alright. You’ve been good enough, so I’ll spare you the punishment this time, but be careful of disobeying me next time, understood?”</p><p>You nod again.</p><p>Illeas kisses your neck and says, “Don’t moan too loudly.”</p><p>He presses his thumb against your clit, rubbing it in circles as he keeps fucking your pussy with his fingers and you feel your pleasure mount. You’re doing your best to hold back your moans even as his finger work your pussy with expertise, teasing your clit so that you can feel yourself reaching your orgasm.</p><p>“That’s right, princess. I know you want to come for me. Come around my fingers. Come while I finger your wet pussy, darling.” He increases the pace, doing something with his fingers inside you that makes you shudder even more, and you breathe harshly into his hand.</p><p>“I’m coming,” you moan. “I’m coming.”</p><p>You convulse around his fingers as you come. Illeas groans at the feeling of your pussy clenching around him. “Yes, fuck, just like that. Come around my fingers, my love.”</p><p>You press your mouth into his hand to keep from moaning too loudly as his fingers draw out your orgasm. He reduces the intensity of his movements as you come down from your orgasm, leaving his fingers inside you for a moment before pulling them out.</p><p>“Was that good, princess?”</p><p>You nod, unable to do much else. The effect his fingers had on you was remarkable. You had assumed he was good, but to be able to tease you and make you come so easily was incredible. His fingers had touched you in a way that you had never tried to do yourself. You aren’t even quite sure what it was that he <em>had</em> done, but whatever it was, it had felt incredible and you want him to do it again.</p><p>Illeas pulls you closer against him. “Do you want to try to get some sleep now, darling?”</p><p>You shiver slightly as the word ‘darling’ traces its way up your spine.</p><p>“Yes,” you say.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You wake up to an empty bed.</p>
<p>For a moment, you forget where you are, the dingy early-morning light filtering through the tiny window doing little to alleviate your confusion. You look around, sleep still weighing on your mind, when you notice the faint outline of your robe casually draped over a rickety chair. Then, in a rush, the events of the night before come racing to your cheeks, making your entire body far warmer than was comfortable underneath an already thick blanket. You grip the blanket to your chest, squeezing your eyes shut and taking deep breaths to calm yourself. You squeeze your thighs together and feel the evidence of the night between them, and you have to pull the blanket over your head to contain your squeals. Your heart is pounding, throat extremely dry as you try to parse through what you’d done.</p>
<p>What you’d let him do.</p>
<p>The feeling of Illeas’s fingers, so soft and firm, grazing your skin, plunging into your –</p>
<p>You turn over and stuff your face into the pillow, letting out a muffled scream. You slowly reach down, letting two fingers brush against your clit and you shudder, pulling away quickly. Your body is still sensitive, the smallest touch making your hips buck. You bite your lip, letting darkness press into your eyes.</p>
<p>His touch had felt incredible. You knew, objectively, that he had trained for this exact thing: to learn how to touch another person in a way that felt good, but you hadn’t been prepared for how <em>incredible</em> it would feel. Already your body tingled for his touch again and you sighed, flopping over onto your back. You were really going to have to learn how to separate work from pleasure.</p>
<p>Only then does it occur to you that it’s too early for Illeas to have woken up already. The low light outside indicated that it was barely sunrise. Wherever Illeas had gone, his clothes and sword had seemingly gone with him.</p>
<p>The warning about assassins rings clear in your head and you swallow, the warmth in your body draining into ice-cold fear. You quickly climb out of the bed and pull your robe around you, pressing your ear to the door. You hear some muffled voices in the distance, but nothing close to you. <em>Relax</em>, you tell yourself. <em>He might have just gone to stand guard outside. Or to the bathroom. Just because he’s gone doesn’t mean you’re in danger.</em></p>
<p>Still, you can’t help but crack open the door to peer into the gloom outside. Further down the corridor, a lone torch throws unhelpful shadows across the wall, doing little to help you make out any shapes in the darkness right in front of your door. You wait a few beats, but you hear nothing except for the continued chatter from somewhere else in the building.</p>
<p>You shut the door again, unsure if you should risk slipping out to find the voices or if you ought to stay in your room, and wait for Illeas to return, because surely, he would. Right?</p>
<p>You resign yourself to wait and sit with your hands under your butt on the bed, forcing yourself not to fidget. The sun makes its way lazily up the sky. The noise downstairs lowers to a mumble, and then reignites as the sounds of work: kitchen utensils clinking, the treading of boots on wood, the low rumble of constant conversation. At some point, you must have drifted off, because the next thing you see are Illeas’s bright blue eyes looking down at you in amusement.</p>
<p>“Good morning,” he says.</p>
<p>You jump, startled, and smack your head into his as you hastily try to sit up.</p>
<p>“Ow!” Illeas grabs his forehead, squinting in pain.</p>
<p>You rub your own head, feeling the sting. “Where <em>were</em> you?”</p>
<p>Illeas gingerly lets go and you see the skin turn red where you hit him. “I was discussing today’s plans with the guards. What were you doing?”</p>
<p>“Waiting for you!” you exclaim. “I woke up and you were gone and you weren’t even outside. I thought something happened.”</p>
<p>At this, Illeas’s expression turns softer. “Sorry, I didn’t think you would wake up so soon. I slipped out to discuss today’s schedule with the rest of the guards and if there had been any disturbances last night. I didn’t expect to be away for long.”</p>
<p>“Were there any disturbances last night?”</p>
<p>Illeas shakes his head. “No, everything’s fine.”</p>
<p>You sigh in relief.</p>
<p>Illeas gives you a small smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause you any stress. I’ll try not to worry you the next time I slip out of bed in the middle of the night.”</p>
<p>Your heart catches in your throat. Illeas’s ears turn beet red, and he looks away, clearing his throat. “The innkeeper has readied water for you if you want to take a bath before breakfast. That’s what I came up here to tell you.”</p>
<p>You nod stiffly, the wetness between your legs only making you flush deeper. You follow Illeas out of the room, neither of you speaking a word to each other.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The rest of the day proceeds in a more relaxed fashion. You manage to meet the rest of the people that had travelled to see you and hear out their claims. By late afternoon, you are finished with the audience, and you thank the two courtiers profusely for their patience, both with agreeing to stay an extra day and with your scattered thoughts. You had managed to stay focused on what was happening for most of the day, but occasionally you would catch Illeas out of the corner of your eye and your thoughts would derail. You can’t seem to push the last night out of your mind, your thoughts constantly drifting back to how warm his body felt against your back, how gently his fingers were, how well he used them . . .</p>
<p>You had taken a bath, but it seemed useless in retrospect, given that you were instantly making yourself wet just by thinking about Illeas.</p>
<p>For his part, Illeas seemed to have recovered much faster than you and had resumed his role as friend and protector. He seemed to have completely forgotten the night before, talking to you in the casual manner that he always did. You were simultaneously relieved and disappointed by this. While it was nice to know that at least one of you had their head of their shoulders, you couldn’t help but feel somewhat disheartened that the excitement of last night hadn’t affected him to the point of leaving him flustered every time he interacted with you, as it did for you. <em>Of course, it wouldn’t</em>, you tell yourself. <em>He’s doing this out of obligation. He was asked to. Ordered to, in fact. This is nothing more than another one of his duties</em>.</p>
<p>When you tried to ask yourself if it mattered that he didn’t react like a thirteen-year-old confessing to her first love, you drew up short. This <em>was</em> meant to be, for all intents and purposes, a course of study. He was simply your teacher, teaching you the ways of the body. He was already well-versed in the subject, and – this you told yourself repeatedly – he had experience with bodies apart from yours. So, of course, he wasn’t affected the same way you were. Why should he be? <em>He’s probably touched several people before you,</em> you tell yourself. <em>Your body is likely unremarkable in the light of so many others</em>. Surprisingly, this does nothing to reassure you.</p>
<p>No amount of objectivity makes it easier for you to interact with Illeas in any normal capacity, so you give up entirely, resigning yourself to nodding or shaking your head whenever he asks a question and answering in short sentences if necessary. Illeas does not seem to take offence to this, and even stops saying very much to you as you set off back to the palace. He maintains his position alongside the carriage but doesn’t turn once to look at you or interrupt your conversation with the courtiers. You throw yourself into the conversation, enthusiastically discussing the outcome of the two days with the men, doing your best to ignore the pit of disappointment and frustration in your stomach.</p>
<p>You almost welcome the argument that ensues with your mother upon your return. You get your fill of yelling and enjoy the hearty dinner the palace chefs had made for you, insisting the two courtiers join you for your meal. You also ask your father to give the guards involved a few days of rest, since you’d dragged all of them for a day longer than they had intended. Satisfied with the night, you retire early to bed.</p>
<p>You hadn’t seen Illeas at all since you’d returned to the palace. He had excused himself to go brief the captain and had not yet returned. You find that you are glad for his brief absence now, in the safe comfort of your home. Now you had time to organize your thoughts.</p>
<p>You change out of the dress you had been wearing the last two days into a comfortable nightgown, far more elegant than the one you had been given the night before. The thick fabric doesn’t even betray a hint of nipple and you relax into a chair, tugging at the book closest to you.</p>
<p>You allow your thoughts to drift, catching them now and again and dragging them back to the book, but your efforts are futile, as you know they would be. You think again of the night before and have to fight the urge to reach your had down under your skirt. You need to know what it was that he had done to make you react in such ways. The feeling of his fingers inside you had been incredible. How did he do it?</p>
<p>A knock on your door brings you out of our reverie. “Yes?”</p>
<p>“It’s me,” Illeas’s unmistakable voice floats in. “Might I come in?”</p>
<p>Panic kicks you like a horse. You feel your gut swirl inside your body, and you flail around for an answer. What did he want? Why was he here? It was one thing to daydream about the way his fingers made you feel but another thing entirely to have him spend the night again. You grip the skirt of your nightgown, the pulsing under your stomach betraying the voice in your head yelling at you to say no.</p>
<p>“I just want to talk,” he says calmly, evidently sensing your panic.</p>
<p>You stand up and let go of your skirt. “Come in,” you say in what you hope is a neutral tone.</p>
<p>Illeas cracks open the door and slips into your room, shutting it behind him. He’s dressed plainly in a linen shirt and trousers, wearing regular walking boots. His sword is nowhere to be seen and his hair is pushed back, still damp strands clinging to his neck. You feel the familiar blush coming on at seeing him so simply dressed, no longer in his guard uniform. This feels more intimate somehow and your body shivers in response.</p>
<p>“Are you alright?” he asks.</p>
<p>You nod. “How can I help you?”</p>
<p>He puts his hands behind his back, not moving away from the door. “My apologies for the late hour, your majesty, and my appearance. I know this is not the regulated attire, and I will inform the captain of my misconduct early tomorrow morning, myself. However, I was hoping I could discuss with you a matter that I deem to be of relevance to the both of us before we each retire for the night.”</p>
<p>You furrow your brows at the sudden shift in demeanour. “What are you doing?”</p>
<p>Illeas looks confused. “I am telling you my reason for visiting at such an inappropriate time in the evening, my lady.”</p>
<p>“Yes, but why are doing it like,” you gesture vaguely towards him, “<em>this</em>?”</p>
<p>Illeas relaxes his stance a little. “I did not want to make you uncomfortable, or think I was here for . . . other reasons. I thought it would be easier to talk about things if I kept a formal distance between us.”</p>
<p>Immediately, you feel like a fool. Of course. Of <em>course</em>, he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. That’s what he’d been doing all day. Keeping his distance, not speaking to you until absolutely necessary, interacting with you like normal. He did not want you to feel awkward or strange with him around and he had done everything to accommodate your reaction to him. You swallowed. You had acted so distant and dismissive, and here he was, making sure <em>you</em> were alright.</p>
<p>You drop your head into your hands with a groan. “Illeas, I’m so sorry.” You gesture to the chair next to yours. “Come in, please. Sit down.”</p>
<p>He hesitates but takes the seat. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”</p>
<p>“No, there is,” you insist. “I was acting like an idiot. Like a child who didn’t know how to behave herself. You were being so kind and considerate –”</p>
<p>Illeas ducks his head, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Relax,” he says, gently. “You did nothing wrong.”</p>
<p>“But –”</p>
<p>He shakes his head. “Your reaction is quite understandable.” He hesitates again before saying, “Would you be comfortable talking about this? About last night?”</p>
<p>Your fists clench automatically, but you nod your head. This was Illeas. You wanted to try your best to communicate with him.</p>
<p>“Alright,” he says. “First, we do not need to continue. We can regard last night as a trial, to see how comfortable you are with the arrangement, and if it is indeed too much for you to handle, we do not need to proceed. Don’t worry about your mother, we can figure something out, I’m sure. And second,” he continues, not allowing you to interrupt, “we should have talked about it more. That is my fault. We should have discussed boundaries, how far you were willing to go, and how you wanted us to interact after. I . . . I wasn’t expecting us to even engage in any sort of sexual activity so soon after you had agreed, so I did not bother to speak with you about it before. And, well, by the time we were at that point,” he leans back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair as he stares at the ceiling, “I was too caught up in the moment to stop.” He shakes his head again. “I should have. And for that, I am sorry.”</p>
<p>You pause for a beat, waiting to see if he has anything else to say. When he doesn’t speak, you say, “It was not only your fault. The fault is shared here, I think. I should have asked you if you wanted to before . . . well, <em>before</em>.” The words feel heavy on your tongue, and you fight to speak them, pushing past the embarrassment and awkwardness you feel. “I also wouldn’t say I don’t want to continue.” You can feel the words shrinking in your mouth and you force yourself to speak them clearly. However, you cannot meet Illeas’s gaze. “I enjoyed myself last night. I . . . I want to learn. About what you did, but also more. I would like you to teach me. It’s just that I don’t know how to talk to you afterwards.”</p>
<p>“Why not?”</p>
<p>The heat is back, and you are drowning in it. “I can’t stop thinking of, um, last night when I look at you.”</p>
<p>Illeas remains quiet for a moment. You look anywhere but at him. Then, mercifully, he speaks. “Have you tried separating me in your mind?”</p>
<p>This makes you look at him. “What?”</p>
<p>“Divide me into two people,” he says. “When we are together in bed, I am tutor Illeas.” The term ‘together in bed’ makes your stomach flip, but you hold his gaze. “And outside of the bedroom, I could be guard Illeas. Treat them as two people with distinct personalities. Would that help?”</p>
<p>You think of the heat in his gaze last night and suppress a shudder. The Illeas sitting in front of you looks almost incapable of eyeing you with that hunger and you are surprised to find yourself calming down. “I think so.”</p>
<p>He smiles. “Good. What I said still stands. If you want to stop, then just say so. At any moment, we can call this off.”</p>
<p>You nod. “I’m alright for now.”</p>
<p>“Okay. Then, can I ask you something else?”</p>
<p>“What is it?”</p>
<p>“You said you enjoyed yourself last night. What exactly did you enjoy?”</p>
<p>The question catches you off-guard and you feel your pussy clenching automatically. “Wh-what?”</p>
<p>“What did I do that made you feel good?” He stops short when he sees your expression and says, almost to himself. “Of course, I’m guard Illeas right now. How are we going to distinguish between the two? Perhaps I should have a marker of some sort. Maybe a badge?”</p>
<p>You’re pretty certain that by now, the blush on your face is here to stay. You say nothing as he ponders on it before seemingly coming to a solution. “Ah, what about, when I have my hair tied up, I am guard Illeas, and when I have my hair down, I am the tutor?”</p>
<p>His hair, blond and curly, extends only slightly past his shoulder. He hasn’t attempted to tie it up before – not for as long as you had known him, at least – but he also had his hair cut quite short the first two years he started out as your personal guard. Only recently had he attempted to grow it out, the result of which you greatly approved. The longer, somewhat untamed hair suited him far better than the short crop.</p>
<p>“Alright,” you say.</p>
<p>He smiles again. “So,” he says, leaning forward and regarding you with an intensity that takes your breath away. His hair is undone right now, of course. Tutor Illeas. “Tell me, what did I do that you enjoyed?”</p>
<p>You flush. “Why are you asking me?”</p>
<p>“It’s a part of learning. When you know what you enjoy, you’ll be able to tell your partner, and they can use that knowledge to better please you. It’s the same the other way around. Once I know what you liked about what I did, I’ll be able to please you better.”</p>
<p>You can already feel the wetness pouring out of you. “I, uh, enjoyed all of it.”</p>
<p> His lips quirk and you try your best to not bolt out of the room. Tutor Illeas was somehow more infuriating and simultaneously more endearing than guard Illeas. “Nothing specific?”</p>
<p>“There was one thing. When you –.” You stop, the words sticking to your tongue, refusing to let go. Slowly, you push them out. “When your fingers were inside me, you did something and that felt really good.” You think you might faint from that one admission alone.</p>
<p>“Oh, this?” He curls two fingers towards him, in a ‘come here’ motion, and you feel your vagina react reflexively.</p>
<p>“Is that what you did?”</p>
<p>He nods. “That’s supposed to rub against a spot that is quite pleasurable for women. I’m glad it worked. I’ll remember that for next time.”</p>
<p>You nod, your mouth officially stuck shut.</p>
<p>Illeas lifts himself off the chair and with one hand, holds a bunch of his hair in a makeshift ponytail. “I’ll take my leave for the night, then. Get some rest. Good night.”</p>
<p>You wish guard Illeas a good night before retiring to your own bed. It takes you a long time to fall asleep.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Your steps are slow and halting as you make your way to the library, dreading and at the same time looking forward to your lesson with Gideon. It hadn’t been very long since the last time you’d seen him, but so much had happened in the time between that you hadn’t had the opportunity to think about what you would say to him the next time you saw him. In a surprising turn of events, you found yourself with spare time this afternoon, and ended up at the library on time for once. Why.</p>
<p>Illeas looks at you, confused. “Is there are reason you’re dragging your feet?” His hair is tied in the smallest ponytail you’ve ever seen, and it looks adorable. Strands of hair still frame his face, the curls evidently refusing to stay in place. You can picture him struggling to hold them together before eventually giving up and stuffing what little hair he could in between the twine.</p>
<p>“Don’t make me go, Illeas,” you whine. “I can’t face him today.”</p>
<p>“But we’re already here,” he says. “And I’m sure he’s already heard your voice, if not your words.”</p>
<p>That makes you stand up straight. You pat your cheeks, forcing yourself to be brave. <em>Don’t think about Gideon fucking you</em>, you tell yourself. At least one good thing about worrying over Gideon was that it was much easier for you to interact with Illeas. “Okay, announce me.”</p>
<p>Illeas enters the library ahead of you, introducing you before you follow. Gideon looks up in surprise as you enter, his body lounging casually in one of the chairs. “Well, look who’s on time for once.”</p>
<p>In stark contrast to Illeas, Gideon’s hair is neatly combed, framing his face just so, not a hair out of place. Your stomach flutters like it always does when you see him, although the immediately insufferable attitude sends a wave of relief washing over you. You look at him haughtily. “A princess arrives when she chooses to do so.”</p>
<p>“Well, then I must be a lucky man to be graced by your presence so early.” His gaze flickers over to Illeas who retreats to stand guard outside the library.</p>
<p>Today, there are a handful of other patrons rummaging through the books. One of the reasons Gideon chose the weekend was because fewer people visited the library, but as your lessons had been delayed, you had no choice but to meet on a weekday. Gideon snaps shut the book in his hand and rises from his seat. “Come,” he says, heading for one of the doors that leads further into the library.</p>
<p>You feel your heart pulse painfully in your throat. “Where are we going?”</p>
<p>“Somewhere quieter,” he responds, not waiting for you to follow.</p>
<p>Gideon leads you deep into the library, far out of the way of anybody else in the building. You follow him nervously to a secluded alcove, where he has already laid out the material for today’s lesson. You sit on one side of the cushioned bench, Gideon sliding in next to you. His proximity sends goosebumps across your skin, but you try to ignore it and concentrate on his lesson.</p>
<p>Eventually, you relax, finding comfort in Gideon’s familiar presence. By the time the lesson in done, you don’t feel even the slightest twinge of nerves.</p>
<p>Gideon stretches as the lesson ends and turns to you, emerald eyes holding your gaze. Well, so much for relaxing. Your entire body responds by twisting itself into knots. “What?” you ask, trying not to let him see you flustered.</p>
<p>“How was your trip to the village?”</p>
<p>You are startled by the question. You didn’t think he would be interested in your royal activities. “It was fine.”</p>
<p>“I heard you stayed a day longer. I assume your mother was livid?”</p>
<p>You smile. “Frothing at the mouth.”</p>
<p>He shakes his head at your clear joy in the situation. “You could have been hurt, you know.”</p>
<p>You grin. “Sweet Gideon, were you worried about me?”</p>
<p>He rolls his eyes, not even having the courtesy to look embarrassed. “I was more worried about your parents. With their only heir caught in a tragic accident, who would they turn to to take over the throne?” He leans forward, elbows on the table, thinking aloud. “Well, I suppose I could have stepped up for the job. I would offer my condolences, of course. ‘Yes, the late princess was wonderful; a beauty beyond compare, her wit unrivaled, and my favourite student. My only student, perhaps, but the best I have ever had the pleasure of working with.’ And then I would say, ‘If there’s <em>anything</em> I could do for you,’ and your parents would look at me like the son they never had and say, ‘Why, yes. There <em>is</em> something you could do for us.” Gideon regards you shrewdly. “Hmm, could I interest you in returning to the village and being caught in some kind of fatal accident?”</p>
<p>You ignore him and say, instead, “You think I am a beauty beyond compare?”</p>
<p>“And shallow, to boot.”</p>
<p>“<em>My</em>, Gideon, if I had known that all it would take was one trip away from the palace for a few days to get you to sweet talk me, I would have done this ages ago.”</p>
<p>He raises an eyebrow. “Careful, princess. Your desperation is rising to the surface.”</p>
<p>You snort, the thrill of talking to Gideon like this making your heart pound in your chest. “My desperation for what? <em>You</em>?”</p>
<p>Gideon leans forward, drinking you in. “Now, was that so hard to admit?”</p>
<p>You lean closer to him as well, reaching out to pat his head condescendingly. “There, there, Gideon. Not everyone gets to bed the princess.”</p>
<p>He grabs your wrist in a firm grip, pulling your hand down from his head as he moves closer to you, face disastrously close to yours. “You wouldn’t even make an exception for your oldest friend?”</p>
<p>You lean closer, lips almost touching his, and you relish in the way his eyes widen slightly. “Careful, Gideon,” you whisper, mocking. “Your desperation is rising to the surface.”</p>
<p>You can feel his breathing grow heavy and yours shudders in response. His hand feels hot on your wrist. This close to his face, you can see the blacks of his eyes expand and you feel your pussy clench with arousal.</p>
<p>“You can admit it, princess,” he breathes. “You can admit that you want me. I bet every time that guard of yours sticks his dick inside you, you’re just imagining what I feel like.”</p>
<p>You reel back as if slapped, yanking your hand away from his. “What the fuck?”</p>
<p>Gideon sits up straight, surprised, slightly breathless. “What?”</p>
<p>“What was that?”</p>
<p>He looks confused. “I – what – what was what?”</p>
<p>“That thing you said about Illeas?”</p>
<p>Still confused, he says, “I-is he not your intimacy trainer or whatever?”</p>
<p>“Yes, but how did you know that? Did my mother tell you?”</p>
<p>Gideon runs a hand through his hair, calming down. “Well, she told my mother, and my mother told me.”</p>
<p>The tension of the moment is ruined, but the twisted feelings within your stomach don’t dissipate. “How many people has she told?” Your mind keeps wanting to revisit the conversation that just happened, but you need to focus on this right now.</p>
<p>Gideon shakes his head. “I don’t know. Probably not many, if nobody apart from your parents knew this was a tradition. You know how close our mothers are. It was inevitable that your mother would tell mine.”</p>
<p>“I’m going to kill her one of these days,” you say. Your head is spinning.</p>
<p> “So?” Gideon asks. “How have the . . . lessons been going?”</p>
<p>You glare at him. “Shut up.”</p>
<p>His lips quirk up in a smile. “Wow, that bad, huh?”</p>
<p>You cross your arms in front of you, not meeting his gaze. “It’s none of your business, Gideon.” You didn’t want to talk about this with anyone, least of all the one man that makes you feel the most confused.</p>
<p>“I see.”</p>
<p>The note of knowing makes you look up and you wonder if he in fact <em>did</em> see. What did he think about it? What did he think the two of you had done already? “It’s not –,” you begin. “We’re not – It’s –,” you groan in frustration. “It’s weird.”</p>
<p>Gideon smirks. “I’m sure.” But his smile falls quickly. “Are you . . . enjoying it?”</p>
<p>You feel as if you might explode. “<em>What?”</em></p>
<p>He shakes his head. “Never mind. I don’t think I want to know, really.”</p>
<p>The silence between you stretches out for far too long. You fidget in your seat, feeling guilty, but unsure why.</p>
<p>“We should go,” Gideon says finally, breaking the awkwardness. “I’ll see you again next week?”</p>
<p>You nod and help him clear the table before following him out the library. He nods once to Illeas on the way out and doesn’t turn back to wish you a good day. You stop at the library door, watching his retreating back.</p>
<p>“Is everything alright?” Illeas asks.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” you say.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Impossible though it may seem, Gideon appears to have become more insufferable and straight-edged than before. The next few times you see him, he is cold and aloof, never rising to your taunts or teasing, focusing solely on the lessons and going so far as to outright ignore you when you make a silly comment or ask him something irrelevant. He doesn’t speak scathingly to you or bite back when you make rude remarks, only reminding you, as he is wont to do, of your position and responsibility to be calm and collected as the heir to the throne. If you hadn’t known him your whole life, you might not even have noticed this change in behaviour.</p><p>Finally, having had enough of his obnoxious attitude, you snap. “Why are you being like this?”</p><p>Gideon looks up from the map displaying the allied kingdoms of old, his expression unchanged. “You need to learn about the old allies so that you can make informed decisions when you are the queen -”</p><p>“That’s not what I meant!”</p><p>Gideon sits up straight. “Then what <em> did </em>you mean?”</p><p>“This!” you exclaim. “This thing you’re doing. Acting this way.”</p><p>“Acting what way?”</p><p>“Acting distant,” you say, the tone of your voice not so severe anymore. “Like you don’t know me.”</p><p>“It is the proper way to speak to a princess.”</p><p>You roll your eyes.</p><p>“Especially one that is soon to be betrothed.”</p><p>You freeze.</p><p>“It will not be soon,” you manage to say.</p><p>Two days prior, the king and queen had sent out a royal declaration to eligible nobles and royals of nearby kingdoms, announcing that you were finally ready to marry and were looking for suitors. Despite your protests, they had insisted that it was time to begin looking for a suitor, as the process could take months, and the earlier the search started, the better. A thin veneer of dread had settled itself on your skin and nothing you did could shake it. You tried your best to forget it, but it only became harder to ignore as the days went by.</p><p>The steady line of messengers riding into the palace that morning didn’t do your confidence any favours. You had watched them ride in, a seemingly unending stream of chariots from various wealthy families, with cartons full of gifts to please the royal couple. You had retreated quickly back into the palace, unable to stomach the view.</p><p>You knew, objectively, that it was your duty to marry and take over as heir to the throne, but the reality of it hadn’t struck you until you watched with a sinking feeling the chariots making their way into the palace. You had allowed yourself to imagine, somehow, that you would be exempt from this duty. You imagined you would marry for love, as with so many women in stories, and had allowed yourself the delusion that perhaps even Gideon . . . </p><p>“I do not doubt that it will be soon enough. There are plenty of eligible men that are waiting to wed a princess. And, based on the procession I saw coming down the street, you have no shortage of options.”</p><p>Hearing Gideon speak about you marrying another man is too much for you to handle and your breathing grows quicker. Your stomach churns, and you feel faint. You rise to your feet, eyes latching on to the library door as if it was a lifeline.</p><p>“I’ll see you next weekend, Gideon.” Only an hour has passed since you began your lesson, but the walls of the library close in on you, trapping you in. You find you can’t breathe. Quickly, you make your way to the door, pausing only when Gideon calls out your name in confusion.</p><p>“Oh, sorry,” you say, slightly breathless. “<em> Lord </em> Gideon.”</p><p>You don’t stop walking once you’re out of the library, ignoring Illeas’s startled cries. You walk for what seems like hours, until you’re back in your room, the door shut firmly behind you. </p><p>And that’s where you stay for days, cancelling all your lessons and dinners and audiences. No amount of coaxing from your maid or Illeas or your father or threats from your mother can make you leave. You stay in your room, allowing the ever-growing dread to consume you until you can think of nothing but the inevitability of your future. Your fate was sealed. You would be wed and have unsatisfactory sex with some prince from somewhere or the other and you would bear children and they would strip you of your final shred of independence and then you would die an unhappy, bitter old woman.</p><p>Exasperated, your mother forces herself into your quarters one day, three days after you had barricaded yourself in your room. She throws open the curtains, the murmur of rain sounding louder as dim light fills your room.</p><p>“Get up,” she snaps.</p><p>You ignore her.</p><p>“Get up right now or I will get your guard to drag you from the bed.”</p><p>You continue staring at the ceiling.</p><p>“Guard!”</p><p>Illeas hastens into the room, glancing quickly at your frame lying prone on the bed.</p><p>“Get the princess out of the bed.”</p><p>Illeas hesitates, glancing between you and the queen, unsure of whether to act on her orders.</p><p>“Do I need to repeat myself?”</p><p>Illeas looks tormented and you push yourself to sit up, only to spare Illeas the pain of having to choose between you and your mother. “What do you want?”</p><p>“That is no way to talk to your mother.”</p><p>Your glare does not falter.</p><p>Annoyance is evident in her expression. “Well, you have until tomorrow to wrap up your moping, because we have a possible suitor arriving.”</p><p>The rest of her words wash over you in a roar, like waves crashing over your head, drowning you in meaningless noise. You don’t catch the name of the prince or even where he comes from. All you can think about is how quickly the moment has come. You hoped you had more time. It had only been a couple of days since the proclamation had been made and your parents had already chosen a suitor. You know that you wouldn’t have to choose the first man you meet, but you would have to choose one eventually and that eventuality riddled you with anxiety.</p><p>Somewhere in the distance, outside the dark confines of your mind, you hear a familiar voice calling your voice. You surface, Illeas’s bright blue eyes filling your vision.</p><p>“Are you alright?”</p><p>Your mother had presumably left at some point, leaving Illeas to ensure your sanity.</p><p>You pull your legs up and wrap your arms around your knees. “I don’t think I can do this,” you croak.</p><p>Illeas looks sympathetic. “You haven’t even met him. He might not be terrible.”</p><p>“That’s not the point, Illeas. I don’t think I’m ready to marry.”</p><p>“Well, the process of choosing a suitor takes years, sometimes. You have time.”</p><p>“But I’m not ready <em> now </em>. I’m not even ready to start. I don’t want to meet some dumb prince from some dumb country.”</p><p>“It is your duty as the heir to make political matches.”</p><p>You look at him incredulously. “I <em> know </em>that. Do you think I’m sitting here and sulking because I’m worried about marrying for the benefit of the kingdom? I’m worried about making the wrong choice and marrying someone horrible, who does not regard me as their equal, who pretends to be a good person only to turn around and treat everybody around them like garbage, including my people. I am worried that I will marry a man who I will never get to know, who I will never understand, who I will never love.”</p><p>“That does not sound like you’re thinking about the benefit of the kingdom,” he says.</p><p>He does not flinch when you stare at him. “Well, gods forbid, I think of my position in this marriage.”</p><p>Your blood boils when he rolls his eyes at you, crossing his arms across his chest. “You are making this a much bigger issue than it is.”</p><p>The words coming from his mouth don’t match the Illeas you know. You slide off the bed, anger and frustration making you clench your fists. “Get out of my room,” you say.</p><p>He lets out an exasperated noise. “You’re acting like a child. You do realize that it is your duty to marry and ensure that the royal line continues?”</p><p>The walls of your room seem somehow smaller, more suffocating, closing you in. Illeas’s immovable form looms over you and you find it hard to breathe. “Thank you, Illeas, for reminding me that my only worth on this earth is to be some man’s breeding animal.” </p><p>You try to take another breath, but the air is thick and unmoving. You hasten towards the door, ignoring Illeas’s, “That’s not what I -”</p><p>“Do not follow me,” you say, not pausing before you throw open the door and hurry down the corridor.</p><p>Everywhere you go, the palace walls seem to be closing in. You force yourself to take one breath after another as your body leads you out of the palace doors and into the garden. It is not until you reach the end of the gardens that you realize you are soaked through, the rain pelting down with fury and intent. Thunder rumbles in the distance as slate grey covers you from head to toe. The cold seeps into your skin, worming its way so deep into your bones that you feel it might stay there until you die. You stand for a moment in the absolute cold of the storm, staring at the doors of the library that your feet led you to. The door is shut. No one in their right mind would have ventured out across the garden in this storm.</p><p>From somewhere deep inside you, a sob rises and you let it burst out of your mouth. Your hands come up to cover your lips even as you sink to the muddy ground, sobs racking your body. The cold rain pelts the back of your neck, trickling down your back. You let yourself cry, ugly, unlady-like noises erupting from your throat. Illeas’s words hurt you more than you thought they could and the ferocity of it rocks your body like you had been punched. You never imagined Illeas - sweet, caring Illeas - would side with your mother on something that was so clearly troubling you. You had thought you could talk to him about anything, but it seemed he drew a line when it came to duty.</p><p>Footsteps splashing in the mud make you look up. Gideon’s hair is damp, stuck to his forehead and clinging to his neck. “What are you doing?” he exclaims, raising his voice over the roaring of the rain.</p><p>He holds out a damp hand and you look at it for a moment, stunned by his sudden presence.</p><p>“Get up!” he says.</p><p>You take his hand and he pulls you to your feet, guiding you to the library. He doesn’t lead you inside, and the two of you stand instead just outside the library doors, the overhang sheltering you from the rain.</p><p>“What was that?”</p><p>Initially, seeing Gideon had brought you a sense of relief, but now you remember how cold and distant he has been of late and your heart sinks again. Was there no one in this palace that you could talk to?</p><p>Instead of responding, you slide down to the ground, back against the door. Gideon watches you for a moment to see if you will reply, but after your continued silence, takes a seat next to you.</p><p>“So, you do not want to talk about it?” he asks. A small puddle of water forms beneath you two, the water dripping off your skin and clothes pooling on the stone.</p><p>“Does it have anything to do with the suitor arriving tomorrow?”</p><p>You are too tired to even be upset that he knows about this already.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” you ask instead.</p><p>“Oh, I was studying,” he says, pointing behind him at the doors. “I heard someone crying and came out to see what had happened.”</p><p>“You came out to the library in this rain?”</p><p>“I was here before it started raining.” He pauses for a moment before saying, “I seem to be coming here more and more frequently, especially when I’m stressed.”</p><p>His emerald eyes meet yours and you wonder what he has to be stressed about. Quickly, though, you look away. Holding his gaze for too long makes your body do things and you’re not in the mood to deal with that.</p><p>“He might not be all that bad, you know,” says Gideon.</p><p>Your anger returns to you in a flash and you jump to your feet, ready to bolt. But Gideon grabs your hand before you can run, stopping you in your tracks.</p><p>You have held Gideon’s hand before, but this touch feels different. You look down at his hand grasping yours, almost expecting to see sparks from the sudden rush of warmth it sends up your body. Meeting Gideon’s eyes makes the warmth surge into a full-blown heatwave. His eyes are dark, imploring you to stay. “Don’t go.” His voice is so soft against the rain that you almost don’t hear him, but the words send thrills up your spine nonetheless.</p><p>“Don’t talk about things you don’t know, then.”</p><p>He nods once, graciously accepting your criticism. “I apologize.”</p><p>You sit back down. Gideon does not let go of your hand, instead placing both your hand and his on the ground between you, fingers intertwined. You wonder how he’s so warm after being out in the same frigid rain as you, but you do not complain.</p><p>“I can empathize, you know,” he says after a moment. “One day, I, too, will have to choose a bride from a parade of seemingly worthy women. I just won’t have as many options as you. At least you’re receiving offers from royals and noblemen from all over.”</p><p>The thought of Gideon marrying a stranger makes your heart ache, so you push it aside. “You’ll be fine,” you say, honestly. “You’ve trained for this your whole life. It’s the ‘proper’ thing to do.”</p><p>“Just because it’s proper does not mean it’s easy.”</p><p>“Hmm,” you say, feeling the heaviness in your chest lighten as you converse. “Perhaps you’re not so dense, after all.”</p><p>Gideon rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I dread it, too, you know.” He watches the rain as it draws patterns on the damp ground. “I dread the moment I’ll have to settle for someone. The moment I’ll have to decide who to marry based on nothing but whose child they are or how attractive they are. I will never know them well enough, no matter how much time I spend with them. I’m terrified of spending the rest of my life with a stranger I don’t love.”</p><p>You can’t help but stare. Of all people, you had expected Gideon to be the last person to understand how you left on the matter. And yet, for all his insistence on etiquette and the proper way to do things, he still felt about marriage the same way you did. You wonder briefly if he feels the same way about marriage because he feels the same for you as you do for him, but you dismiss that thought instantly. He might flirt and tease, but there is no way he is interested in you as anything more than just a friend.</p><p>You find yourself relaxing, the weight of your problems lighter from having to talked to Gideon. He looks at you suspiciously when you smile at him. “What?”</p><p>You grin even wider and slide closer to him, snuggling his arm as you lean your head against his shoulder.</p><p>“What are you doing?” he exclaims, but he doesn’t move away. He lets you lean against him, hands still clasped together.</p><p>Eventually, the rain slows, letting some sunlight break through the clouds.</p><p>The two of you stand, the backs of your clothes still dripping wet.</p><p>“Thank you,” you say.</p><p>Gideon regards you for a moment before wrapping you in his arms.</p><p>Your arms are around him before you’ve even comprehended what is happening. He holds you close, pressing your still cold body into his warm one. Your heart is pounding so loudly in your chest that you’re certain he can feel it against his. He holds you tight in his arms until you find yourself relaxing, giving in to the embrace. Your fingers splay across his back, feeling the muscle underneath his clothes.</p><p>He pulls away slowly, his cheek brushing against yours, the almost invisible stubble startling you with its coarseness. His eyes are dark again. His face is only inches from yours and your stomach flips when he raises one hand to run his fingers through your hair. His other arm is still wrapped around your waist, holding you flush against him. His fingers gently trail down your hair, catching on damp knots, and tugging gently to detangle them. You don’t breathe, unsure of what the next moment might bring, and trying not to scare it off.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” he says softly, his voice low. His breath ghosts over your mouth and you swallow. The two of you are so close now that you can see the few raindrops still caught on his lips. You wonder what it would be like to lick them off.</p><p>“Once they get to know you, they themselves will not want to marry you.”</p><p>You slap his arm.</p><p>Gideon laughs.</p><p>You can’t help but laugh along.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Six</h2></a>
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    <p>Illeas is waiting for you when you return, worry and concern evident on his face. Your conversation with Gideon has left you much more cheerful than before, so you wave Illeas’s apologies off before he can even get them out.</p><p>“Stop,” you say. “First, fetch me my maid. I need a warm bath and someone to help me out of these sopping clothes."</p><p>Illeas looks like he might protest, but gives in and sends for your maid. Laura makes a fuss about your damp state and quickly helps you out of your clothes, practically pushing you into the bath that she pulls up for you. You sink into the heat, allowing her to scrub you clean and pamper you. You emerge a few minutes later in a comfortable dress, feeling soft and warm.</p><p>“Well, I for one am glad you got out of the palace, even if you almost worried Illeas into his grave when you ran away like that,” Laura says.</p><p>“I did not run away.”</p><p>“You were practically sprinting down the hall, my dear,” she says, smiling. “If you hadn’t ordered Illeas to stay, you would not have made it past the main doors. Regardless, you are back now and out of that gods forsaken bed. Shall I go down and see if I can’t rustle up some lunch for you?”</p><p>As if on cue, your stomach rumbles and you smile sheepishly. “That sounds delightful.”</p><p>Laura laughs and makes to leave before pausing and turning back around. “Go easy on the boy. He is only looking out for you.”</p><p>Illeas is still standing by the door when Laura opens it to leave and he fidgets, unsure if he ought to ask to come in or wait until you summon him. Immediately, you feel awful. Not for what you said - you still stand by your feelings on the matter of marriage - but for putting Illeas in a position where he feels he might not be welcome. You beckon him in, and he enters your chambers, relieved.</p><p>He gives you a small bow, which amuses you, and starts to speak instantly. “Forgive me, your highness, it was not right of me to speak that way to you. I never meant to make your own emotions seem trivial. I was already irritated by . . . other matters and I took my frustration out on you. You did not deserve that, and I am deeply sorry that you felt you had to run away from me in order to gain some peace of mind.” He pauses for a moment, eyes lifting from the floor to focus on you. “I hate thinking that you do not feel safe or comfortable around me and need to seek solace somewhere that I am not. I forever want to be someone that you can trust with anything – your life and your thoughts alike. I was wrong to speak to you that way and not think about how difficult this must be for you. Of course, you have every right to be concerned about your future and your position within the marriage. Of course, you would want to marry someone you know you can love. These are not unreasonable asks.”</p><p>Illeas’s apology leaves you speechless. Finally, you manage a feeble, “Don’t call me ‘your highness’.”</p><p>Illeas smiles and you feel better. “Sorry.”</p><p>“And stop apologizing so much.”</p><p>“Sorr- Yes.”</p><p>You stifle a giggle.</p><p>“So, you aren’t upset with me?”</p><p>You lean back in your chair with a sigh. “Of course, I am, Illeas. You hurt me with your words, but I accept your apology. And you weren’t entirely wrong. It is my duty to marry and secure a good partnership for the kingdom. I just wish it was not so stressful.”</p><p>“Well, picking a partner is a stressful process even when you do not have a kingdom to consider.”</p><p>You gesture for Illeas to take a seat, and ask, “Have you been looking for partners?”</p><p>Illeas sits down on the chair across the table from you. “Oh, no,” he says, as if finding the notion funny.</p><p>“Do you not want a partner?”</p><p>“No, I would very much like a partner,” he says, “but my hands are full with you, currently.”</p><p>You raise an eyebrow. “Are you implying I am keeping you from finding love?”</p><p>“No, no, that is not what I was implying at all,” he clarifies. “I just mean that I do not have much time to myself, let alone time to go out and meet people.”</p><p>“Surely, you can meet people within the palace? I know for a fact that a good portion of the nobility only attend my audiences so that they can feast their eyes on you.”</p><p>At this, Illeas flushes. “Maybe so, but it would not be proper of me to engage with any of them.”</p><p>You sit up straight. “Why not? You are from a respectable family. I doubt there will be much in your way.”</p><p>“They do not interest me.”</p><p>“What, none of them? Nobody in this palace interests you? Do you even know how many people there are that frequent this place?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t say nobody in the palace interests me, just none of the visiting nobility.”</p><p>You lean forward, elbows on the table. “Oh? So, there <em>is</em> someone.”</p><p>Illeas flushes deeper, not meeting your eyes. “No, that’s not –“</p><p>“Who are they? Do I know them? Have I met them? They must work in the palace, so, one of the servants? Oh, or another guard?” You gasp. “Is it a forbidden love? Star-crossed lovers?”</p><p>“L-love?” Illeas splutters. “You are taking this far too seriously. I, perhaps, <em>like</em> her, but love is –“</p><p>“So, it <em>is</em> a woman.” You cross your arms across your chest, grinning. “I hope she’s not much prettier than me, otherwise, I might get jealous.”</p><p>Illeas snorts. “There is nothing for you to be jealous about.”</p><p>“That’s not a very nice thing to say about the woman you’re in love with.”</p><p>Illeas’s ears are a glowing red. “I did not say ‘love’. And besides, it would be wrong of me to pursue anyone while I am also having sex with you.”</p><p>The familiar twinge in your stomach makes your neck burn. “’Having sex’ is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think? You have only touched me once.”</p><p>“Perhaps, but if I am to continue being your intimacy trainer, we will touch more often, and that is not a decision I would want to burden someone else with.” After a pause, he says, “Do you know if you will tell your husband that I am your intimacy trainer?”</p><p>You feel your stomach grow leaden at the question. “I do not know.”</p><p>Illeas must have noticed your change in demeanour because immediately, he says, “Sorry, I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable –“</p><p>“No,” you say, reaching for levity in the moment. “It’s fine. Perhaps I ought to tell the people I meet that I am having sex with my guard as education and see if they still want to marry me.”</p><p>Illeas laughs. “I do not think that will put too many people off, if I am being honest.”</p><p>“Do you really think many people will want a wife who has already lain with another man?”</p><p>“I think you are underestimating how important you are as a figurehead,” Illeas says. “Given the opportunity, I am certain many people will marry the princess of a kingdom, regardless of her life before. It does not matter how many men she lays with, as long as they get the position and power that comes with being king.” Before you can get a remark in, he continues. “However, I do also think that you are an endearing person yourself, and that people would be hard-pressed to resist you. You are cheerful, fun, intelligent, and not to mention, extremely beautiful. Why would they say no?”</p><p>You scoff, his comments turning your cheeks red. “Who gave you permission to compliment me?”</p><p>Illeas tries to suppress a smile. “My apologies. I’ll refrain from complimenting you in the future.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>“Ah, I should mention, while we are on the subject of the intimacy training, that your mother asked me recently how the lessons were going.”</p><p>Your eyes widen. Ever since that night in the village, you had not asked Illeas to touch you again, although you had wanted to several times. The embarrassment and awkwardness of asking stopped you, and once your parents started to move ahead with the marriage declaration, you had had no time to even think about your intimacy lessons. “Why did you not tell me this before?”</p><p>“There were a lot of other things on your mind, I did not want to shackle you with this.”</p><p>Although you want to protest his actions, you can’t help but be grateful that he hadn’t told you earlier. He’s right, it would have only driven you more insane. “What did you tell her?”</p><p>“That you were a good student and a fast learner.”</p><p>You snort laughter. The thought of your mother receiving positive news about you was amusing. “She did not believe you, surely.”</p><p>“She did not seem inclined to, but she does not have anybody else’s word to rely on apart from mine, so I think she begrudgingly accepted it as the truth.”</p><p>You give him the warmest smile possible. “Thank you.” The last thing you need is for your mother to hound you further about your intimacy training along with finding a suitor.</p><p>“It is no problem. Although, we should probably discuss when to have the next lesson.”</p><p>Your stomach flips at the suddenness of the question. “I’m sorry, I should have asked you for the next lesson sooner.”</p><p>Illeas puts his hands up and shakes his head. “No, it’s no matter. I don’t want you to ask me if you aren’t ready for another lesson. You are quite busy, after all, and after the week you’ve just had, I would not expect these lessons to be in the forefront of your mind. I was only curious if you even want to continue the training.”</p><p>“I do,” you say quickly. “I just . . . I do not know when I have time.”</p><p>Illeas nods, understanding. For a moment, the two of you are quiet, but your thoughts are loud and jumbled. You’ve begun thinking again of that night at the inn and the way Illeas’s hand felt on you and now you’re blushing uncontrollably and the warmth in your stomach is spreading ever lower. You bite your lower lip. An idea comes to you, unbidden.</p><p>“I have time now.”</p><p>Your voice is soft, and you speak the words as the thought occurs to you. You don’t look up to see Illeas’s reaction. You fidget in your seat, hands clasped together. “We could have a lesson now.”</p><p>Before Illeas can respond, however, there’s a knock on your door. You jump, heart pounding in your chest, as Laura’s voice calls from outside. “Pardon us, princess, we’re bringing your lunch.”</p><p>The door opens and a procession of servants bring in dish after dish and lay out a feast on the table. You wait patiently for them to do their task, trying to keep yourself preoccupied by exchanging pleasantries with some of the servants and promising Laura that you will eat as though it was your last meal and would not send back a single dish. You’re quickly distracted, however, when Illeas reaches up and unties the thread holding his hair in place. Golden locks tumble forward, framing his face, and you feel simultaneously a thrill rushing between your legs and into your chest.</p><p>You thank the servants kindly as they leave, shutting the door behind them.</p><p>“Shall I wait for you to have lunch, first?”</p><p>You shake your head. Your stomach is so full of butterflies that you cannot imagine eating anything. “I am not hungry.”</p><p>Illeas pauses for a moment before softly asking, “Will you not look at me, princess?”</p><p>You lift your eyes up nervously, not even realizing that you had been avoiding looking at him. Illeas watches you in clear amusement, but there is nothing mocking about his gaze.</p><p>“Shall we continue?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Your heart pounds faster as he makes his way over to you and turns your chair around to face him. You are stiff in your seat, hands clutching the armrest as if you are holding on for dear life. Illeas kneels in front of you, his face only a few inches higher than yours. He reaches rough hands over to yours, his long fingers easily covering your clenched fists. His thumb rubs goosebumps into your skin. All the while, he keeps his eyes on yours, eyes that have somehow turned as dark as the ocean’s depths.</p><p>“Relax,” he whispers.</p><p>His fingers tug at your hands gently and you unclench, loosening your grip on the armrest. You let your shoulders drop, easing the nervousness out of your face. You still feel the anxiety twisting together with arousal in your core, but this is Illeas. You can trust him.</p><p>He smiles at you encouragingly, but with his shabby hair only manages to make you wetter. He shuffles forward a bit until your knees are squeezing his waist in between them.</p><p>“Now,” he says, “I would not want to take it much farther than where we started. You said you enjoyed my fingers pleasuring you.” The words bring heat to your face and sends more dampness gushing out of you. “So, I suggest, we don’t stray too far from there.”</p><p>His hands graze down your arm, down your thighs and around the back of your legs until his fingers finally find your bare ankles. All the while, he watches you, waiting to see how you react, if anything he’s doing makes you uncomfortable.</p><p>His touch brings arousal by the spades. You are acutely aware of how his fingers trace circles around your feet and your breath shudders already.</p><p>Slowly, so as not to startle you, his fingers climb up your shins, delicate touches tickling against your skin as his hands rise up under your skirt. Your eyelids flutter at his soft touch, tingles sinking into your skin as he bushes against the back of your knees.</p><p>You feel your skirt lifting as his hands move upwards and a sudden rush of embarrassment makes you grab them, holding them in place. Illeas stops. Your skirts are almost all the way up to your thighs and you stay them there.</p><p>“What’s wrong?”</p><p>You know that your face is now beet-red, from both arousal and embarrassment. You duck your head as you mumble, “I don’t want you to see . . . me.”</p><p>If you expect Illeas to find your hesitance ridiculous, you are mistaken. “That’s perfectly fine,” he says, calmly. “We can do it a different way, if you’d prefer.”</p><p>You nod.</p><p>He stokes the back of your knees gently and tugs your skirt back down so that it’s covering the length of your legs again. “Here, come forward a little.” You inch forward on the chair until you are seated on the edge, giving Illeas more space to maneuver.</p><p>He does not try to lift your skirt again, instead reaching down and around so that there’s plenty of fabric in between. He continues up your legs, fingers stroking the back of your knees, rubbing up the backs of your thighs. You bite your lip and lean back in your chair, eyes never leaving his. You watch as his gaze grows more and more intense as his hands ride up the length of your legs and the desire in them makes you shudder.</p><p>Firm fingers circle around your inner thighs and you let out a gasp. He teases your sensitive skin gently, brushing against your thighs with feathery, fluttering touches. You’re already breathing harshly, and he hasn’t even touched your vulva. You move your hips forward, feeling your pussy dripping for his fingers and he lets out a low chuckle that sends bolt shooting down your stomach.</p><p>“Patience, princess,” he says, his voice doing that low rumbling thing that you are sure will be the death of you. His fingers stroke lower down your thigh, and his thumb rubs tantalizingly up your panties, not pressing nearly as hard as you would like. You groan, bucking your hips some more, itching for more of his touch.</p><p>Illeas grins up at you, his features transformed into someone you have never met before. Between the intensity in his gaze and the confidence in his actions, he looks like a different person. Someone whose touch you’re craving, whose fingers you want to feel inside you again.</p><p>“Before I go any further,” he says, fingers ghosting up your skin to rest at the waistband of your panties. His fingers dip into the underwear and your breath hitches, even though he does nothing else. “I want to know if you would be comfortable with me going underneath your skirt.” For a second you don’t understand what he means, but realization brings heat pouring into your vagina and you try to squeeze your thighs together, squeezing Illeas’s waist instead. He quirks an eyebrow at you but continues. “I would not be able to see anything,” he adds, “and I think it makes sense that this would be the next step from where we started.”</p><p>The thought of Illeas’s head underneath your skirt is enough to make you feel faint. You’re certain that your panties are soaked through by now and when he pulls them away all that will be left of them is a sopping mass of fabric. But the thought excites you and you nod.</p><p>Illeas smiles. “Good.” Then, lower, “I cannot wait to taste you.”</p><p>You’re certain you’ve died just upon hearing those words alone.</p><p>His fingers graze the side of your waist and down your legs as he pulls your panties off you. As you predicted, a dark stain blooms in the middle but before you can feel anything about it, Illeas lifts up your skirt and slips under it. You gasp just at the sight of him disappearing under the fabric and now your mind is spinning, thinking of how close his mouth is to your pussy.</p><p>Soft kisses on your thighs make you moan. His hair tickles your skin, tongue darting out here and there as he peppers kisses along your thighs, and you have to grip the armrest as tight as possible to keep your soul tethered to your body. Illeas takes his time kissing you, gently parting your legs as wide as they can comfortably go. The closer he gets to your vulva, the louder your moans get and you’re practically shivering as he drags his hot tongue up and down the folds just outside your labia.</p><p>You groan his name, desperate to feel his tongue on your clit.</p><p>“Oh, sorry,” he breathes.</p><p>His tongue, hot and wet, strokes the length of your vulva and you cry out. He doesn’t give you time to adjust, licking your clit at a good pace, even as you moan and buck under him. His hands are pressed into your thighs, holding you in place, and he sucks, licks, and strokes your clit with broad, powerful movements. You can barely contain your moans, sure that the whole palace is echoing with your louds cries.</p><p>“Fuck, Illeas,” you groan, leaning back even further in your seat to give him more access. The shift in position suddenly makes his licking more intense and you’re hard-pressed to contain yourself.</p><p>“You taste so fucking good,” Illeas’s muffled voice sounds in between licks and you feel your pussy respond violently to his words.</p><p>“Shut up,” you breathe, your cunt twitching under his ministrations.</p><p>Illeas’s chuckle rumbles through your core and you bite back another gasp. He pauses for a moment to say, “I’m only speaking the truth.”</p><p>“Shut <em>up</em>,” you repeat, the loss of contact abrupt, your pussy clenching for him to continue.</p><p>“Mm,” he moans, still not continuing. “I want you to come on my tongue, princess. I want to taste all of you.”</p><p>You cover your face in your hands, despite Illeas not being able to see you. “Just continue,” you say, your voice shaky.</p><p>You feel Illeas laugh, but he obeys, tongue returning to stroke your clit. He picks up speed, and you feel two fingers slide into your tight wet pussy. Your moans grow louder as he sucks your clit and pumps his fingers in and out of you, curling them inside your pussy, driving you wild.</p><p>Your hips thrust to the rhythm of his fingers fucking you, grabbing the armrests to keep you grounded. You feel your orgasm build, breath coming out in shaky bursts. “Illeas,” you moan again, and he responds with a moan of his own. You moan his name another time and you feel Illeas respond with his tongue, stroking you harder and faster. You grin to yourself. So, he likes it when you moan his name.</p><p>You continue to moan his name and Illeas’s breathing gets haggard, his tongue stroking you even faster, until all you can think of is his name and the orgasm rocketing up your body.</p><p>“I’m – Fuck, Illeas, you’re going to make me –“</p><p>With a shudder, you come, thrusting into Illeas’s waiting mouth. He keeps licking and sucking your clit until you relax, but doesn’t stop when you stop shaking. Instead, he pulls his fingers out and starts to lick the wet dripping out of your pussy. Feeling his tongue inside you makes you gasp, and you feel arousal rising through you again.</p><p>“Illeas, what –,” you begin, before realizing that he is trying to lick you clean. The thought makes you wet all over again and you gasp as his tongue returns to your clit, stroking and licking it again, but more gently this time.</p><p>You groan as a second orgasm builds in your core. You don’t think you can come a second time so quickly after the first, but Illeas keeps licking your clit, broad strokes bringing you closer to orgasm faster than before.</p><p>“Fuck, Illeas, if you keep going, I’m going to come again.”</p><p>Illeas doesn’t respond, instead stroking your clit firmly until your rising orgasm makes you dig your nails into the armrest.</p><p>“Yes,” you moan. “Yes, fuck, I’m so close.” You rock your hips back and forth. “I’m coming, Illeas, I’m coming.”</p><p>You come with a loud moan, pussy twitching against Illeas’s capable tongue. Your entire body tingles as you ride your second orgasm.</p><p>This time, Illeas pulls away with a soft kiss on your clit that makes you shudder.</p><p>His face is red and dripping when he emerges from under your skirt again. The site of him covered in your orgasm makes your heart stutter.</p><p>“Was that good for you?” he asks.</p><p>You nod, unable to speak quite yet.</p><p>He smiles. “Let me go get cleaned up. You should have some lunch, I suppose you’ll be quite busy for the rest of the day.”</p><p> </p><p>Illeas is right. The rest of the evening you spend being escorted from one end of the palace to the other, being fitted for dresses, hardly listening to your mother pick out the dinner menu, and barely paying attention while being taught proper etiquette for receiving a suitor. You stumble through the day, halfheartedly engaging with your surroundings, as the ever-present dread of the next day descends on you once more. Only your talk with Gideon prevents you from sinking back into your earlier stupor, and you find yourself determined to at least be somewhat mentally present during the dinner.</p><p>The next morning, the entire palace is abuzz with activity. Decorations cascade down every wall, the dining room is polished so clean that you can slip on the marble on your bare feet, and the delicious aroma of different foods wafts through every room. You’re hungry before you even begin to get dressed for dinner, not in the least because your mother insisted you eat little for lunch so that you appeared thinner. Laura helps you with a dress that is unbelievably tight around your waist and you wonder if your mother didn’t want you to eat little during dinner, too. The dress pushes your breasts up, making it look deceptively ample and you can’t help but take some satisfaction when Illeas’s gaze dips down to your cleavage when he enters your room.</p><p>Immediately, however, he averts his eyes. “If you’re ready, princess. The prince has arrived.”</p><p>The brief moment of amusement fades as the reality of the situation hits you. You take a deep breath, letting it out through your nose. “Alright. Let’s go.”</p>
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